


Helping Hand

by gabi1994



Series: Sherlock One-shot Collection [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: #oneshot, Fluff, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabi1994/pseuds/gabi1994
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When technology momentarily challenges John, Sherlock lends a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hand

John sent a soul chilling glare down at the obscenely expensive chunk of circuitry in his hands and wished that cell phones had spirits he could cause to quiver in fear. The damned thing was absolutely unreadable. Between the florescent glare, and the too bright screen his nose was practically touching the phone as he tipped the benighted thing back and forth in effort to read the text.

Of all the times! This was important, but he couldn’t very well walk out on Sherlock in the middle of waiting in the morgue to look at a body…who knew what he might get into without proper supervision.

Getting quite angry with the hapless piece of technology he mashed several buttons and was surprised when the letters on the white screen suddenly became visible. Not questioning this stroke of luck he quickly reviewed the message. Absently biting his lip, he tapped out a quick reply. Clutching the phone he waited impatiently for a response.

Nothing

Nothing

Nothing

 _‘Harry?’_ he prodded.

_‘Alright…fine.’_

Breathing a sigh of relief, that was one disaster averted, John momentarily closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall he had slouched against. His attention slowly untunneled from his phone to the present as he became aware of warm breath on his face.

His eyes snapped open and he stared befuddled at the blue scarf Sherlock had habitually around his neck. The man was inches from him. His head inclined slightly so that gray-blue eyes could meet his own aqua ones squarely. This move nearly tucked John under his chin. There was a tiny smirk set on his lips. John momentarily stared, just how had he gotten so close? One of those shiny black shoes John was so familiar with tossed haphazardly around the flat was literally between his own unremarkable brown loafers. Sherlock had him caged somewhat securely up against the wall, long arms buried in trench pockets almost resting on John’s elbows.

Getting a hold of himself John straightened from his lazy slouch blushing slightly when this brought their faces closer together his hands, still clutching the phone brushing his flat-mate’s chest. This did not seem to bother the still smirking Sherlock who if possible leaned closer so his pocketed hands touched the wall, fully boxing the doctor in.

“Umm…what exactly are you doing?”

Sherlock blinked his intense, pale eyes once, they looked warmer than usual and his smirk grew, “You were making this grumbling whining noise in the back of your throat. It was distracting.”

Sherlock smelled like mint and wool. John shook his head slightly knocking this errant thought out, “So you are doing what exactly?”

That dark brow arched familiarly, “I am improving the lighting, so that you stop making that noise.”

“oh…” John faltered; Sherlock had honestly been trying to be nice…

The phone in his hand vibrated, it’s trilling cry urgent, John’s upper teeth once more caught his lower lip.

Sherlock was full out grinning at him now, “You should probably get that.”

“Yeah…” he mumbled eyes darting left then right trying to see how he might extract himself from the situation.

Sherlock solved that problem by snaking one leather shod foot behind John’s ankle, urging him to slouch back against the wall. Having little choice but to comply, or fall against Sherlock’s chest, John dipped his head back down to address the small black device in his hands. He felt Sherlock’s arms, through his heavy wool trench, press lightly against his upper arms.  The man’s warm breath brushed his hair and every once in a while he would feel Sherlock’s chin brush the back of his head.

Firmly he banished such observations from his mind settling down to address this family problem. He was in the middle of a more lengthy reply to his sister when Sherlock spoke up once more.

“I also like the way your hair smells…you’ve been using my shampoo.”

John snapped his head up just missing clipping Sherlock on the chin by an inch, “Wha—”

Unfazed by this Sherlock leaned closer tucking John under his chin in silent command to finish his text.


End file.
